


Remember to Breathe

by Wisttic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wisttic/pseuds/Wisttic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He slept on the street that night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember to Breathe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashitanoyuki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashitanoyuki/gifts).



> Set just after the episode " I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here".

**Remember to Breathe**  
  
>XXXXXXXXXXX<  
  
  
Castiel slept on the street that night.  
He hadn’t even been sure of what was happening at first, his eyelids drooping against his wishes. His legs and shoulders had become heavy, air ragged when it went from mouth to lungs.  
He’d decided to sit down in an alley, out of the way, and passed out in an instant.  
  
He woke up only minutes later, eyes wide and gasping for air like a drowning man.  
Heart racing, terror gripping his exhaustion-addled mind, Castiel curled in on himself and swallowed in air as fast as he could.  
Breathing, right, breathing.  
To others it wasn’t a conscious effort.  
Angels had no need for oxygen, whatever breathing they did was more of a facial expression than a need. Castiel had learned to breathe often, because Dean had always looked unnerved when he hadn’t drawn in air at a constant rate. It hadn’t been so much of a bother, and when he was away from the Winchester brothers, often Castiel just forgot and held his breath for hours on end because it was so pointless. When he rested, he never breathed.  
His body had gotten used to that, and sleep was rest, no need to breathe when resting.  
Castiel felt his lungs begin to slow, his heart stopped racing as the danger of suffocation passed.  
  
A paradox presented itself. To rest, he must sleep, but to sleep meant he would wake up again, alarmed, breathless.  
  
That was to say nothing of him still being hungry, and thirsty, in pain from unhealed injuries, and some last unknown sensation.  
He was shaking, trembling from an unpleasantness that came straight from his bones, making his teeth clack together audibly.  
…Cold, he was cold, and all this was so… new.  
He’d seen humans experience these things before, all of them. Had seen children cry from hunger, had seen men scream in pain, had seen humans of all sexes and genders wander off in the cold and slow down until even their heart stopped.  
  
Castiel was beginning to see that knowing of these things and understanding them were entirely different things.  
  
The former angel tucked in his limbs as close as he could, shivering and keeping a conscious effort to breathe. It wouldn’t be so hard if Dean was here, giving him off looks and remarks of him being ‘creepy as all hell’ when his lungs were still.  
In fact, it would be easier overall if Dean was there, offering advice or a place in one of the Winchesters so-often rented cheap motel rooms.  
  
Or a burger, Castiel could still recall the time when he’d been quite fond of those.  
  
Castiel shook his head, trying to clear his mind as he closed his eyes again. He should try, at least once more, to sleep.  
His eyes snapped open a few moments later, matched with a gasp that wasn’t from necessity this time.  
Had he heard something?  
He looked off into the dark, heart settling as he saw the eyes of a stray cat staring at him from deeper in the alley. It walked off after just a second, leaving Cas with himself and his own feelings of paranoia.  
Sleep meant suffocation, it also meant weakness.  
Castiel gritted his teeth together to stop their clacking.  
Cold and sleep could also mean death, could it not?  
  
He doubted God would bring him back next time.  
  
Cas cleared his throat, unsure why it itched and rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth to relieve it. No. Sleep was a bad idea. He would just stay awake until daybreak, then continue on his way. The Winchesters got away with barely any sleep, surely he could go a day or two without any.  
Just until he knew he was safe, safe and among friends.  
  
He stared at the streets, into the unknown and saying nothing as one of the streetlights flickered out.  
Darkness… If he closed his eyes, surely something would come out, taking his breath by either force or by lulling him into his own trap of exhaustion.  
  
So he stayed, sat, and fought sleep until he was too weak to hold back anymore. Breath came in spurts and gushes, starting him awake for fever-dream seconds whenever his lungs were empty. It was miserable, lonely, cold, and dark.  
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Castiel made a note of why humans slept in shelters, why they bundled together and clung to their fellow man in the dark.  
  
Because when faced alone, the human condition was startlingly similar to the worst parts of hell.  
  
  
  



End file.
